


come over here and perform for me

by r1ker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one first time, wesley bets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come over here and perform for me

**Author's Note:**

> i am just on a roll lately
> 
> school's wrapping up and i have a lot of free time so enjoy
> 
> title's from come on to me by sean paul

He likes when Wilson touches him.

 

Sometimes it’s a simple as a hand on the shoulder in thanks and appreciation, a hand on his wrist in restraint (whether it be Wesley’s rare snaps of patience or his own anger).

 

Now it’s the two of them in the backseat of the Escalade, middle leather seat folded down to accommodate Wesley’s knees as he sits in Wilson’s lap. Wilson looks worried, a lapful of another man filling his senses, his arms and his body. Wesley looks down at him, arms around Wilson’s neck. He’s not overly excited, nervous, or uncomfortable with what’s at a risk to happen in this position. He strokes his hand at the back of Wilson’s neck, trying to ease the tension that’s got his muscles seizing up. He feels a brand of control, the tables turned. Most of the time it’s Wilson looming over him, working hard to bring him to climax or to a heightened state of arousal. This time it’s Wesley bringing him all that was given to him before.

 

“Relax,” he tries to console. Wilson’s still not budging, looking over Wesley’s shoulder for any signs of retaliation from their enemies following a tense situation at the warehouse they’re situated next to.

 

Wesley gently turns his face towards his own and gets eye contact back with him. “Don’t worry about what happened tonight. If they know any better, they’ll keep their distance until at least tomorrow night. Given that they took bullets in and out, we most likely won’t see them for a while.” Wilson nods, acknowledges his attempt to relax his mind, and hangs his head down. Wesley goes back to rubbing his hands over his body, sweeping between his neck and his shoulders.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, if this’ll take your mind off of what happened earlier,” Wesley begins, inching down to put his mouth to Wilson’s ear, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. I’ll go home, put that briefcase full of yours and my business down at the door, and go take a shower. I’ll stand there beneath the water, just as naked as I always am when I’m not with you, wash off the blood of your enemies from my arms and my chest, and I’ll wonder if you’re doing the same.” Wilson’s gaining interest now, trying to look at Wesley from his position on his shoulder; Wesley can tell from the way he hears his breathing pick up, change course from how it was barely pulling in air. “If I start thinking too much about you, the way you’ve fucking taken over my life, the way you follow me home when we’ve gone our separate ways, I’ll take some of that body wash you got for my birthday last month, and I’ll put it in my hand and jerk myself off. It smells like you, I noticed. You picked it so I’d have your smell on me at all times. Jesus, it’s like you want other people to know I’m yours. You don’t see that in someone who’s not completely consumed in someone else.”

 

Wilson looks up at him in surprise but not in disgust, rather a bit flattered that someone so the complete opposite of him do something so intimate. He can picture it as it’s being told to him, Wesley’s ass tensing with each forward thrust into the tight tunnel of his hand, moans coming from his mouth and falling silent beneath the spray of the shower. And maybe he is enraptured with the idea of Wesley, his presence alongside him something he craves day after day and he doesn’t even have to ask for it at all. Wesley’s right there with him at every waking moment. That sort of dedication and unabated loyalty cannot be found anywhere else than in someone who is devoted to the cause, and even more to the person leading the cause.

 

Wilson’s mouth’s dry before he can realize it. He finds it hard to reply and to swallow, struggling even to breathe.

 

“It doesn’t take a lot to get me going, just the thought of you fucking me where we’re sitting, slinging my legs over the headrest and drilling me right into this expensive leather. I bite my hand without even thinking about it, just imagining you above me just giving it to me as good as I like to think you give it to Vanessa. Remember that day I didn’t shake hands with anyone with my right hand? That’s what happened to it. You happened to me.” Wilson’s already going for his pants, fumbling open the belt buckle and the fly to get at Wesley’s boxers. “Do you?” Wilson’s confused and he locks eyes with Wesley again, nearly gasps as the way his eyes are completely different, clear green swallowed by piercing black. “Do you fuck her like I think you do?”

 

“No,” Wilson gasps out from his place against Wesley’s chest, nose against the fabric of his expensive shirt, warm breath making goosebumps blossom at the skin underneath. “No, I don’t.”

 

“That’s a shame,” Wesley breathes out as Wilson strokes at his back, going down to palm the swell of his ass. His hands grip the crown of Wilson’s head, keeping his grip on the situation steady and strong. “You’re perfect for it – strong, tall, handsome, powerful. The amount of times I’ve thought about you just grabbing me and shoving me against a wall and fucking my brains out have grown since I met you.”

 

“I can do it,” Wilson says softly, hands nestling in the curves of Wesley’s hipbones. Wesley’s breathing hard now, trying to regain and continue his composure, all the while loving the control he has in this moment. “I can do what you want. I can have you right now, right in this backseat. You can have it if you would like to.”

 

“Not yet,” Wesley maintains, easing back so he’s sitting fully on Wilson’s kneecaps rather than perched on his aching knees. “Not now, that’s not how I feel at the moment. All through that thing earlier with Owlsley, the only thing I had running through my mind was I just wanted you to touch me. Keep touching me, just like you’re doing now.” Wilson does so; he’s letting Wesley kiss him deeply a few times, ones where both their jaws are hinging open deeply with the effort, before they’re both fully hard. Wesley loves the taste of him, the way his tongue sweeps in his mouth. He never had anything like this before, it was all pensive thought about just what it tasted like without having any sort of thing to go from.

 

Finally Wesley removes his button-up, tosses it in the front seat and lets Wilson ravage his chest, teeth and lips digging crevices into the dips of Wesley’s ribs.  He allows Wilson’s hand to go lower to wrap around his aching cock and begin to stroke. One hand on his wrist to maintain the pressure and the rhythm, the other holding Wilson’s jaw as they kiss languidly, and away Wesley goes.

 

Wesley breaks away long enough to encourage him again. “Faster, come on,” he pants out, fingers catching in the sweat both of their bodies have made in this hold. Wilson complies and jerks his hand faster, uses the precome at the tip to ease his wrist along as he twists from time to time. Wilson tugs at his wrist, feeling the bones shift beneath their shield of skin and muscle. He’s working like a madman, Wesley notices, trying hard to bring him pleasure as if he doesn’t already know he’s achieved it already.

 

At this point in the game, about an hour and a half into their tryst in the backseat of the car, Wesley’s far-gone. He’s so close to bursting it’s a wonder he’s maintained it for this long. He’s shaking hard, legs trembling where they’re situated in Wilson’s lap, hands clattering against Wilson’s shoulder blades.

 

One foot comes up to dig at the edge of the seat. Wilson sees his eyes go straight up, looking at something on the textured ceiling of the car, trying to find a point to focus on as his orgasm hits him. “Oh, god, I’m coming,” he says, voice breaking just as soon as the dam of his arousal does. Wilson tugs a few more times and Wesley cries out, spills over Wilson’s shirt and his fist. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” The words are so hushed that Wilson has to really work to make them out. He pushes Wilson’s head down to rest against his collarbones and whimpers as the shocks travel through his body. It’s nothing he’s felt before, nothing like the other sensations of bliss he’s had. Slipping into a hot shower after a long day, a long one that begins early and ends just as the next is about to begin is about as close as he can get to relate it to something tangible. That feeling rushing over you as something cleans works to rid something unnatural and dirty leaves him breathless.

 

Wilson looks at him during, observing him like he would do in Vanessa’s art shop. That’s what Wesley is to him, a fine piece of art put before him to appreciate and love. He leans up to kiss him and Wesley accepts greedily, all the while still passionate in his sanguinity.

 

There’s a handkerchief on the console near the driver’s seat and Wilson’s able to go for it blindly in the aftermath of their shared climaxes. Wilson came the second Wesley did, something considerably more hushed than the others. It was sudden and blinding, a spike of pleasure to his brain as he worked to ease Wesley through his. He uses one side to wipe his hand off, taking Wesley’s come and the evidence of their passion away from the skin, and sticks the other down his pants to mop up the rest.

 

Wesley slides down off his lap to rest in the other seat, chest still heaving. He watches Wilson clean himself, some sort of interest on his face. The wristwatch someone left on the console says it’s almost one in the morning, meaning that they’ve spent two hours together in an idling SUV jerking each other off. Something like that has never happened to Wesley before. This whole dynamic they’ve developed has come to mean much more than fighting the naysayers. Their worlds are forever changed, both from others’ actions and the choices they’ve made for themselves.

 

Wilson’s done cleaning himself and he sits back on the bench seat and looks over at Wesley. He sighs and reaches over to grab his hand. Wesley takes his just as soon as it’s offered and holds it on his thigh. His fingers stroke over Wilson’s and they’re still trying to ground one another. It feels like something in their minds is still keeping them hovering over their living bodies. It’s strange, for Wesley’s never felt before, and it almost sends him into hysterics as his brain tries to resolve the situation.

 

“Oh, god,” Wesley says again, almost in the same tone he had when he was coming, looking over at Wilson. “That was really… relieving.”

 

“I like it when you talk to me like that, James,” Wilson confesses to him. “It’s a completely different side of you that you work to hide when you’re working with me. It’d be a treat to see again, admittedly under different circumstances.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on having sex in an SUV that Gao and Owlsley have sat in,” Wesley almost snickers, feeling like a twenty-two-year-old again, and Wilson’s eyes crinkle at his mirth. He starts laughing and Wilson smiles, doesn’t join in. He loves when Wesley laughs, something so rare and bright to see, the grin of straight and white teeth as he revels in the hit to his sense of humor.

 

“I’m gonna let them sit in those same seats the next time we see them,” Wesley laughs and he knows it’s juvenile but it was one of the first thoughts he had in the front of his mind when this all happened. “Oh, what’s the matter with me?” His belly’s quivering. He stops after a while, wiping away tears that collected at the corners of his eyes.

 

Wilson’s amused by it all, seeing his assistant – his other – break down into a rare display of emotion – a very nice sight. He gets in the driver’s seat, the chauffeur long gone at the beginning of the skirmish in the last evening, and works to settle himself as Wesley climbs in alongside him.

 

“You’ve got two options for what we do next,” Wilson begins, turning the key in the ignition and positioning his foot on the brake. “You can go home to your apartment or you can come borrow the tub and the towels at mine. Dealer’s pick, you get to choose which soaps to use and everything.”

 

“The last one sounds like it would do me just fine tonight,” Wesley chooses, buckling himself in for the ride back to the apartment. There maybe they can touch more, Wesley hopes as the lights of the city ease on by on their way down the street, something maybe a little less intimate than displayed before but all the while pleasing.


End file.
